


Shafted

by fredbassett



Category: Primeval, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Ryan can’t help getting involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shafted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Annariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annariel/gifts).



> 1) I think, in a round about sort of way, this might be a companion piece to another fandom stocking filler from a couple of years ago called [Barbed](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1143030). Shafted takes place some years before The Quest for Erebor.  
> 2) Primeval is a UK TV sci-fi show. Probably all you need to know is that anomalies are rips in time and that Ryan is a soldier.

There were few things Ryan liked less than an unscheduled trip through an anomaly. 

On this occasion, propelled by an ankylosaur’s club-like tail, he just thanked his lucky stars that they hadn’t gone up against one of the armoured sods with a Morningstar-tipped tail, instead. The clubbed tail was bad enough and he knew as he hit the ground on the other side of the anomaly that he’d almost certainly cracked a couple of ribs, if the sharp pain in his chest was anything to go by.

He came up onto his feet in a low crouch, ready to sprint back through the anomaly, but before he’d taken two paces towards it, the rip in time flickered once, like a dodgy light bulb, and then disappeared. Leaving Ryan behind in the fading light of what looked like early evening, a sharp contrast to the bright winter sunlight he’d just left behind.

“Fuck.” Ryan stared into empty air, trying to will the anomaly back into existence. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t successful. This one had appeared and disappeared regularly for the past week, so if he was lucky it would turn up again, much like the number 36 bus. But if it didn’t… Ryan shook the thought off. He had to stay alive, and wasting mental energy on worrying about something he couldn’t change wouldn’t help with that.

He took stock of his surroundings, quickly checking for any immediate threats. He was in a rocky valley with a small stream running at its base. A little way up the opposite bank, he could a dark hole at the bottom of a small cliff that looked like the entrance to a cave. He had a source of water and possible shelter, and he still had both his M4 carbine and his Glock 17, with plenty of ammunition for each, so he was unlikely to starve.

Things could definitely have been worse.

From what he remembered of Cutter’s lectures, the ankylosaurs were associated with the late Cretaceous, so he was going to have to keep out of the way of a whole range of nasties with large teeth and in some cases even larger claws, but Ryan had no intention of engaging in any unnecessary heroics. He planned to keep his head down and keep eyes on the anomaly site as much as possible.

As Ryan turned to cross the stream and make his way up to the cave, he heard a harsh cry, like the sound of a bird of prey, followed by a series of shouts in a language he didn’t understand, but it didn’t take a student of linguistics to know that whoever was responsible for the noise wasn’t just out for a quiet stroll in the countryside and anyway, even Ryan knew enough about human evolution to know that hominins of any description certainly hadn’t lived side by side with ankylosaurs in the Cretaceous. And what the fuck had his life turned into when words like hominin tripped off his mental tongue without the need for conscious thought?

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour in unknown territory, Ryan crossed the stream and made his way up the slope to the mouth of the cave as quickly as he could. His chest hurt, but not enough to make him think he’d actually broken something. The cave smelled strongly of animal, but the pile of dried grass on one side seemed old and, despite a heavy musk hanging in the air, there were no signs of recent activity. It wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it was definitely better than nothing. 

Outside, Ryan could hear the harsh cries coming closer. Dropping to one knee behind a large rock, he held his M4 in readiness.

A figure dressed in black leather and a fur-trimmed cloak came into view, swinging a lethal-looking sword in a carefully controlled arc around his body. The man’s long dark hair, shot with silver, fanned out over his shoulders and the hands that gripped the sword hilt were engrained with dirt and blood. He was carrying a large pack on his back, with a long-handled axe strapped across it. The weapon looked like it was intending for cutting flesh rather than wood, but it was doubtless capable of being pressed into service for either purpose.

He was being harried by a pack of creatures that looked like they’d jumped straight out of the pages of his daughter’s fairy tale books. They were pale, with round-heads set with large ears and equally large eyes, dressed in a rough mix of rags, leather and furs and carrying a mismatched assortment of weapons. Some had clubs, some long, jagged knives, a couple were carrying short-handled axes, and one was swinging a length of rusted chain. Sharp teeth were bared in distinctly unlovely snarls and it was clear that a dentist would have been able to drum up plenty of trade around there. That was if he didn’t simply get killed and eaten.

The man they were pursuing stopped at the narrowest part of the defile and put his back against a tree, obviously hoping to prevent his attackers coming at him from every direction at once. But despite that, he was hopelessly outnumbered.

Steel spun in the air, lopping the head off one of the creatures and causing the others to cower back for a moment of much-needed respite as dark blood fountained in the air. The man reached quickly around to the various items strapped to his pack and pulled out what looked like some kind of vambrace for his left arm, made of rough wood that looked intended to serve as a crude shield, enabling him to block blows from his opponents without always having to meet blade with blade. The man was a skilled and experienced fighter, his movements controlled and economic, and he fought with a single-minded intensity that Ryan recognised from many of the men he’d served with. There was nothing overly flamboyant about his style, just a quick, dangerous thrust, parry and swing that kept his attackers at bay like a pack of dogs surrounding a wolf.

It seemed like the ugly fuckers’ favoured tactic was to make a lot of noise in the hope of rattling their chosen quarry and forcing a mistake. But this man didn’t look like the sort who made mistakes.

Ryan’s first instinct was to go to his aid, but he was in unknown territory, and the usual rule of the team’s forays beyond the anomalies, whether deliberate or accidental, was to engage with the local populace as little as possible, and preferably not at all. He was also conscious that he knew nothing of the background to this fight. Despite that, it went utterly against the grain to see one man at the mercy of many.

A flash of movement higher up the slope on the opposite bank caught Ryan’s eye and he saw that one of the creatures had pulled itself up onto the vantage point of a tree branch and was drawing a short bow. A split second later, a black-fletched arrow was in flight. It took the man in the sword arm and caused the sure movement of his blade to falter for a crucial instant and one of the attackers pressed home an advantage, slipping beneath the man’s guard to strike at his chest with a long, blood-stained knife. The blade was turned back by a metal breastplate beneath the leather jerkin and the hilt of the man’s sword smashed into the creature’s face.

The archer was drawing the bow again.

Ryan swore under his breath, took aim and squeezed the M4’s trigger. The rifle report cracked across the valley, silencing the exultant yells of the creatures for an instant. The archer toppled from his perch, half his head blown away by the bullet.

The black-clad swordsman didn’t hesitate, despite the surprise registered on his face. He promptly pressed home his momentary advantage, beheading another two of his opponents and stabbing a third through the chest, all with the arrow still sticking out of his upper arm.

With a howl of fear, one of the creatures turned tail and ran. That was enough to turn the tide, and the others promptly did the same. Their erstwhile prey leaned back against the tree, his breath coming in heaving pants. The light was fading fast now, but Ryan could make out a look of naked relief on the man’s face. It didn’t look like he’d expected to survive that particular fight.

With his rifle held across his chest in readiness, Ryan made his way down the slope to show himself. He’d already taken sides in this fight, so keeping his distance now seemed somewhat pointless.

As he came closer, Ryan realised that the man was no where near as tall as he’d expected, coming well below Ryan’s shoulder, no more than about 5’2” in height. The creatures attacking him had been of similar size. Despite his lack of stature, the man stared up at him with a haughtiness that would have given Sir James Lester a run for his money. The man contrived to look down at Ryan along the length of his aquiline nose whilst looking up at him at the same time. It was a bloody neat trick.

The swordsman was handsome in a hawkish way, despite the sweat, mud and blood smearing his face. His clothes were well made, but had seen good wear, as had his weapons. The sword blade, still lifted defensively, gleamed in the dusk, and a slight shiver passed down Ryan’s spine. This wasn’t a man you would want as an enemy.

Ryan stopped well out of range of a sword swipe, although he knew that the man was both fast and agile, so leaving that distance was no doubt a wholly illusory comfort. “Captain Tom Ryan. I took out the archer.”

The man continued to stare down his nose at Ryan but then his eyes flickered over to the body of the hairless creature whose head Ryan’s bullet had rearranged, and the fire in them softened slightly. “Thorin Oakenshield….” A moment’s hesitation was followed by the words, “At your service,” and a slight inclination of the head that might – or might not – have been a bow. The man’s English was oddly accented but wholly intelligible.

“That arrow needs to come out,” Ryan said, doing what his second in command always referred to as ‘stating the bleedin’ obvious’.

Thorin Oakenshield sheathed his sword and reached around with his left hand to grasp the shaft of the arrow.

“Wait!” Ryan took a pace forward, his hand raised. “That point’s almost certainly barbed. You’ll take a fucking great chunk out of your arm with it if you’re not careful.”

Thorin smiled somewhat wolfishly and snapped the shaft in his hand without even wincing. “It will be easier to deal with now.” He shrugged the pack off his left shoulder and accepted Ryan’s help to ease it over the broken shaft sticking out of his right arm. 

Ignoring the corpses strewn around the bank of the stream, Thorin stalked over to the water, his pack dangling from his hand. For want of anything better to do, Ryan followed him. Thorin unbuckled the heavy cloak from around his shoulders, removed his tunic, breastplate and undershirt and squinted at the arrowhead buried in the flesh of his upper arm. 

Ryan drew the small knife he kept in a leg-sheath and pulled a cigarette lighter out of one of the pockets of his tac vest. “I said, wait!”

Thorin glared at him. “A dwarf does not need the aid of a man to tend his wounds.”

Ryan raised his eyebrows in surprised. The man wasn’t tall, but he wouldn’t have described Thorin as a dwarf. “If you’re a dwarf, what are they?” He gestured at the dismembered bodies with the knife.”

“The spawn of Mount Gundabad.” Thorin spat on the ground, the gesture making his feelings perfectly plain on the subject of his former attackers. “There are strange things stirring in the mountains.”

“An armoured creature with a club for a tail?”

“And others.” Thorin looked in barely-concealed surprise at the flame Ryan had just conjured up with the flick of his thumb. “To whom do you owe allegiance, Captain Tom Ryan?”

“That’s a long story.” Ryan heated the tip of his knife in flame. “Can you stay still while I cut the point out?”

The answer he got was a glare that could have stopped a T. rex in its tracks.

“Just asking,” Ryan said mildly. He took firm hold of Thorin’s muscular arm. “I’m going to cut your arm so I can get the point out without tearing.” He pulled a field dressing out of a pocket and held it out to Thorin. “Hold this. I’ll need it when the arrow’s out.”

“Get on with it.” Thorin’s tone was haughty and his blue eyes were ice cold.

Ryan could see from the various scars on his upper body that the dwarf, as he’d called himself, was no stranger to injury. Ryan made two quick incisions on each side of the arrowhead, took hold of the wooden shaft and gave a firm tug. The arrow slid free, despite the barbed point.

“Do they poison their arrows?”

“Sometimes.” Thorin nodded at his pack. “There’s some salve in a box in there. Let the wound bleed for a moment and then apply the mixture. You have sure hands, Captain Tom Ryan,” he added.

“I’ve had some practice. And Ryan will do fine.”

He followed Thorin’s instructions with regard to the salve, a green paste that smelled strongly of a combination of mint and something he couldn’t place. Once that had been liberally smeared on the wound, Ryan slapped on the field dressing. 

“What of your own injury?” Thorin asked, staring pointedly at Ryan’s chest.

“I’ll avoid lifting heavy weights.”

The dwarf laughed, and Ryan caught a glimpse of something lighter under the gruff exterior. Maybe not all the lines at the corners of Thorin’s eyes had been caused by stress.

By the time Thorin had redressed, it was full dark and they were working by the light of the under-barrel torch attachment on Ryan’s M4. Thorin was clearly unfamiliar with that sort of technology, but he asked no questions, although he eyed Ryan’s weapons speculatively.

Later, as they shared some hard bread and even harder cheese from Thorin’s pack, accompanied by half a ration bar each from Ryan’s pocket, the dwarf said, “You’re as much a stranger in this world as some of the creatures the goblins of the mountains have been trying to contain, are you not?”

There wasn’t much point in denying it, so Ryan simply nodded. “I’m waiting for a portal to open back to my own world. It’ll look like a shining jewel broken into a thousand pieces.”

Thorin stared at him in silence for a long minute. “I have seen such in this region, but not for several years.”

Ryan shrugged. “I’m a patient man.”

Thorin’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “It pays to be patient. It seems we have more than one thing in common.”

Ryan returned his smile and settled his back against the cave wall, giving himself an unobstructed view of the anomaly site.

The anomaly would open again, he was certain of that. It was just a question of when. In the meantime, he could think of worse companions than Thorin Oakenshield.


End file.
